Soul Mate
by PrettyLittleGleeber
Summary: What happens when Santana visits a fortune telling booth with Brittany and suddenly she can tell everybodys destined soulmate, written above their heads? brittana and faberry, thats what! a little AU. some other side couples also included.
1. The Beginning

**hey! this idea just came to me randomly, also some inspiration from 2.19 when jacob ben isreal asked if santana an karofsky were "soul mates" (gag) and i thought, what if santana could tell everybodys soul mates or something? its complicated...lol. well its a little AU. also, faberry, brittana, and maybe some OCs i may or may not include later on. also, im writing in the dinidng room, and i have a view of the kitchen, and i saw palmolive soap, so thats why the fortune telling ladys name is and she may be a sole chracter later on.**

**disclaimer: i dont own glee. but i do own this kind of weird idea for a story.**

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><p>"Come, discover your soul mate!" said a voice, coming from one of the booths in the corner, titled "Madame Palmolive's Fortune Telling."<p>

"Should we go, Santi?" asked Brittany, shifting her pinkie around where it was intertwined with Santana's.

"Eh. Why the hell not?" Santana said. Of course they would have one of these stupid fake fortune telling booths. It _was _an elementary school carnival after all.

"Just make sure your little sister knows we left the booth for a minute."Santana said, but her words were lost as Brittany scurried into the dimly lit booth.

"Hello there!" a lady said. She had on a deep purple scarf shawl looking thing, which wrapped around her so her face wasn't visible. It swirled around her like an icy silk blizzard.  
>"I am Madame Palmolive." she said, ushering them to a small table stooped low to the ground. There was a fragile crystal ball placed in the center, wrapped safely around a blanket.<p>

"This is Santi! And I'm Brittany." smiled Brittany as an annoyed groan emitted from Santana.

"Hey." said Santana, smacking her Trident spearmint gum between her jaw so she felt like that girl in _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. _

"Well, you have come because you want me to tell you your soul mates, correct?" asked Madame Palmolive.

"Yeah. Well, Brittany does." Santana looked at Brittany, drowning in her curiously adorable baby blue eyes.

_Your my soulmate, Britt britt. _thought Santana, thinking about how insanely beautiful Brittany was.

"Well, here, let me look into this ba-" she was cut off by the sound of a phone trilling. It was _My Humps _by the Black Eyed Peas.

"Not me." shrugged Santana.

"What's a lovely lady lump?" asked Brittany.

"Excuse me. Go ahead, tell your fortune, I don't care!"Madame Palmolive grabbed her phone and rushed outside into the night, "Hello?" she called.

"Wow. That was a waste of two tickets." Santana muttered, standing up to leave. She was done with this.

"No, Santana, wait! Look into the ball!" Brittany grabbed Santana's wrist, sending fireworks rocketing into the night.

"Fine." she sat back down.

"Now see your soul mate!" said Brittany excitedly.

"Whatever you say, B."

Santana gazed into the ball. At first it was a thick wall of dense fog, just swirling around and around in a medley of forms, purple fog, blue fog, black. Then she leaned in a little closer, and what she saw almost knocked her off the small stool.

Brittany.

Eight letters, etched into the fog, written in precise, neat cursive, exactly like the handwriting of someone a little too organized. Then her face popped up in the crystal ball, just a floating head, bobbing along right next to Santana's own, until Santana was freaking out _a lot _more than she was two minutes ago.

"Do you see that?" screamed Santana, waving her arms frantically and cowering behind Brittany, pointing at the ball, suddenly frightened on the brink of insanity.

"What, Santana? It's a crystal ball?" Brittany peered closer, "I don't see anything there."

"No! You don't get it! It's your name, B! See it! And you and me together. Well, technically just our heads, but who freaking cares! Can't you see that!"

"Santana, maybe we should go." Brittany didn't know what the deal was, but if Santana was freaking out it was a dire situation and Brittany sure didn't want any harm coming to her best friend forever and ever.

"Hell yes!" and Santana was up and out of the booth and into the Pierce's minivan that they came in, shivering and shaking and scared in a matter of thirty seconds.

Little did she know her life just got a _whole _lot weirder.

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><p>School was <em>not fun.<em> She kept seeing the image of that crystal ball appearing in her head, over and over and over ahead. She couldn't get that image of her and Brittany out of her mind, two floating heads, two freaking smiling heads.

"Santana, preste atención por favor! Sé que se habla español, pero que does'nt significa que usted puede aflojar." Barked Mr. Schuester, "Y deja de tocar con su lápiz en contra de su portátil!"

"Sorry for 'tapping my pencil'" snapped Santana rudely, a pair of air quotes formed around 'tapping my pencil' as if to make a point about how lame it was.

"Santana, please. Pay attention." Mr. Schuester said, speaking in English this time. He rarely switched languages when he was teaching Spanish.

"Yes, Mr. Schue." Santana muttered, too low for anyone to here. She was preoccupied. There, on top of Mr. Schuester's head, was the word Emma. Emma? And it was just floating their, neat, uncluttered handwriting, right above Mr. Schuester's head. Wait. Wait. Wait, wait wait.

That was the same cursive that was in the crystal ball.

So…this Emma woman was Mr. Schuester's soul mate?

Yep. Maybe.

And then everything faded to a thick wall of black.

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><p>"Santana? Santana?" asked a sweetly innocent voice, whispering in her ear, breathing lightly.<p>

"Whuh?" Santana's eyes flitted open like she was an awakening butterfly.

"You passed out. So Puck carried you to the nurses office and I was super deeduper worried. But Mr. Schue said you were still breathing." Brittany nestled close to Santana, ignoring the eyes of about five of their fellow glee club members, all watching on with widened worried eyes.

"Are you fine, Santana? Because, I was trained in CPR, and I took a course, so in case you stopped breathing, but I kind of forgot how to do it, and—" Rachel blabbed.

"Berry. I'm okay." Santana tried to sit up, but she winced a little as a throbbing pain erupted atop her head.

"You hit your head hard." Brittany stated, caressing a huge lump that took residency on Santana's head, much to her painful distaste.

"Shit. That hurts like hell!" Santana gasped.

"It's okay, Santi. I'll kiss your boo-boo." Brittany reached up and kissed the painful lump.

And, somehow, that made her feel better.

"Holy _shit_!" she screamed, for the first time really seeing everyone crowded around her. All of those weird cursive bubbles bobbing around above their heads.

"What is it, Santana? Are you having trouble breathing, are you feeling okay?" Rachel asked, gesticulating frantically.

"Uh, no! But, but, bu—your head!On your head!" she wailed, seeing the words _Quinn _floating above her in that same cursive. Wait, Rachel was a _lesbian? Rachel Berry?_

"Ha, Berry! Santana has a concussion, and she _still _makes fun of you." Laughed Quinn, and, much to Santana's anticipated half-surprise, the words _Rachel _danced above her head. Rachel. And Quinn. Life these days.

Puck had a random girl, some lady named Shannon.

Mike had, quite obviously, Tina. And vice-versa.

Artie had...Brittany?

Suddenly, she felt more weirded out then before. If that was even freaking possible.

Brittany was _her _soul mate, right? Not Artie's?

Hopefully.

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><p><strong>how was it? please, R&amp;R. REVIEW. i like reviews :D. and tell me if i should continue please! and those of you following some of my other stories, an old hope will be continued shortly. happy mother's day!<br>**

**~CJ out**


	2. Realize

**Ok, so i have gotten a lot of story alerts for this story, but only 13 reviews. urrrggggh. makes me angry! well since the amount of alerts is pretty high, i will continue! .. REVIEW. yes, that was all caps! :D**

**Disclaimer: i own nothing except for the story idea, which, according to MaxximumRide666, is a little like death note which i have heard about but havent read/watched/whatever yet. and i appreciate that baseball bat threat! lol jk jk :D (and yes, that was a shout out for you!)**

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><p>Those little cursive letters, just one name, written ever-so-neatly, were driving Santana crazy. Ugh. She had passed out at least twice, gagging so much at how disgusting some of those couples were. She could just feel her sanity slipping away from her.<p>

But she couldn't get over the whole Brittany/Artie thing.

Artie. Artie as _Brittany's _soul mate? What the freaking hell?

And Santana knew of the whole breakup. Of course she was there for Britt, who was just sitting their daydreaming with her exposed, vulnerable heart and a pocket full of tears. She had given Brittany a hug, telling her it was all right. Even though those rumours about her playing for the "other team" Brittany carelessly blabbered were telephoned throughout McKinley's student body, she couldn't hate Brittany.

But the most frustrating predicament present in her life (besides her confused feeling for her best friend) was she couldn't actually see Brittany's soul mate. That was the funny thing. It had been a week since these weird…"powers" (powers she called them, because she was actually in a higher position then everybody else) had kicked in, and thanks to that mysterious Palmolive lady and an eager Brittany she was now a supernatural freak who could determine all the couples present at McKinley. But she couldn't see Brittany. Still. She knew Brittany was _her _soul mate, but she was also Artie's, which was complicating, but she just couldn't see Brittany's. No matter how many times she stared above Brittany's head, arms crossed protectively over her chest, eyebrows furrowed, a name ceased to appear. Just one name, just one swooping name written in black cursive.

Today, after that thinking she did, Santana was in a crappy mood. After spending all of P.E. (volleyball. Bleh.) staring at the top of Brittany's head, she was fed up with everybody and every single damn thing. Everybody was annoying her, it was like, how, if you hated someone for instance, suddenly every quality of theirs was worse and worse until you got so fed up you bitch slapped them. Or at least wanted too.

So, yeah, Santana was having one of those days.

Brittany was having a good day, on the other hand. Santana kept staring at her head, which puzzled her (did she have a spider crawling around on it, or a brain tumor?) But other than that, it was okay. About three guys asked her out to Prom, and she politely rejected them, something Brittany would never usually do. But since today was a rumored good day, and she was feeling happy, she didn't feel like being mean like Santana was on that same day.

And that's how the two of them ended up bumping into each other in the hall.

Santana had been walking around, grumbling, kicking at an empty Mountain Dew soda can, she even dropped her books in the hall and screamed some Spanish choice words at the people giving her weird looks. She had felt a warmth on her forehead, and realized it was Brittany, who was humming a tune and no doubt off in LaLa land with her cat Lord Tubbington.

"Hey." Santana said demurely and soberly, embracing her in a hug.

"Hey Santi!" beamed Brittany, returning it, looking happier than ever. But her smile diminished when she saw the look on Santana's face, and held her closer and squeezed.

"Honey, what's wrong?" asked Brittany, holding Santana out to arms length, who no longer looked angry but more exhausted as if the day's events were weighing down on her like a colony of anvils.

"Don't call me Honey. I'm your superior." Santana tried to snap desperately, but deflated into Brittany's strong, sensible hold. Brittany led her into an empty classroom.

"Honey, what's wrong?" they sat down on an empty lab table, Santana on one stool, Brittany on the other, Brittany's arms wrapped around Santana's like a security blanket. Santana sobbed openly into Brittany's chest. Like she had been doing alot lately.

"I can't tell you. I wish I could." Santana whimpered, feeling like she was in a position of vulnerability. This wasn't like her other secret—not-so-secret anymore—about her feelings for Britt, but a weird secret that nobody would believe if she exposed it. Brittany's eyes flashed something Santana had never seen in them before. Was that…hostility? No, never. It was hurt.

"You promised you wouldn't keep secrets from me, San!" gasped Brittany, hurt written plainly on her face. Santana's heart cracked a little bit.

"You wouldn't believe me. I can't tell." Santana murmured. She scooted away a little from Brittany, the stool making a scratching noise that disrupted the tension, rippling it.

"I…I—I have to go." Santana stumbled, grabbing her bag that had toppled to the floor and rushing out of the room, her face a bright red.

Later that day, after the remaining part of her free period was spent finding refuge in the janitor's closet, she was forced to face the misery that was Glee club. Brittany could still be mad at her. She probably still was. And now that the whole Fleetwood Mac week was over, Santana could find any song and sing about it, kind of like a big slap in the face to Brittany.

_Don't be mad at me because I can't tell you that I can see who you're destined to be with. Oh, wait, never mind. I can see everybody else. Just not you. _Thought Santana to herself.

"This week," Mr. Schuester took his Expo marker that smelled faintly of cow crap, "Love. True love." He wrote in his messy boyish big letter scrawl. All of the glee club exchanged bewildered looks.

_Mr. Schue, you are either a mind reader or a freaking genius, _Santana thought.

"Soul mates." He looked right at Santana, sending a fleet of shivers galloping down her spine and dispersing to every limb in her body. Did he know something?

"Everybody has a soul mate. It's the way it works." Said Mr. Schue, the name Emma trotting along as he paced around the room, tapping his marker against his open palm.

"Not true." Kurt said, everybody turning to stare at him. He had his head held high, his legs crossed, so he looked like an indignant boy version of Rachel.

"I don't believe in that." He continued, "I think you don't find a soul mate. You just have a lover, and after you fall in love, and the relationship works, you have some kids, or adopt, and then you die." He shrugged.

"You're soul mate is Blaine, idiot." Santana murmured, too low for anybody to hear, not even Quinn, who was sitting an empty seat apart from her. And, sure enough, there was _Blaine _written in that same slightly creepy handwriting. When Kurt cocked his head, the name moved to the side a little like a slouchy newsboy cap.

"Mike is my soul ma—" Tina started to protest.

"Ok. Enough. Does anybody have a song they would like to do right on the spot, perhaps?" asked Mr. Schue, clairvoyantly sensing an argument approaching. It would be one of those ones that ended with one of the members storming out in a complete Rachel Berry like feat.

"Well, I have an obvious one. _Realize, _by Colbie Calliat." Rachel stood up, looking pointedly at Brad the piano guy, who always by magic, had the sheet music to that very song in his calloused hands. She also shot Finn a glance, which ended in a dramatic hair flip and a beady, narrowed, glare at Quinn, who smiled mock sweetly in return.

_Take time to realize,  
>That your warmth is. Crashing down on in.<br>Take time to realize,  
>That I am on your side<br>Didn't I, Didn't I tell you._

But I can't spell it out for you,  
>No it's never gonna be that simple<br>No I can't spell it out for you,

Rachel sang, having it specially transcribed to a soprano part, taking Finn on a long guilt trip. Well he deserved it. Quinn held him closer, feeling Rachel's eyes boring into him from all the way on the other side of the piano. Finn put his arm around her shoulders, more to make himself feel comfortable than anything else.

_If you just realize what I just realized,  
>Then we'd be perfect for each other<br>And will never find another  
>Just realize what I just realized<br>We'd never have to wonder if  
>We missed out on each other now.<em>

Brittany's eyes met Santana's. After Brittany broke up with Artie, she had a lot of thinking to do and a lot of realizing to come to. They both looked down,

_Take time to realize_

_Oh-oh I'm on your side  
>Didn't I, didn't I tell you.<br>Take time to realize  
>This all can pass you by<em>

_But I can't spell it out for you,_  
><em>No its never gonna be that simple<em>  
><em>No I can't spell it out for you at the exact same moment.<em>

_If you just realize what I just realized  
>Then we'd be perfect for each other<br>And we'll never find another  
>Just realize what I just realized<br>We'd never have to wonder if  
>We missed out on each other but,<em>

Lauren leaned closer to Puck, nestling close to him. Santana smiled mischievously, knowing that Puck and Lauren wouldn't last. She knew both their soul mates.

_It's not the same  
>No it's never the same<br>If you don't feel it to.  
>If you meet me half way<br>If you would meet me half way.  
>It could be the same for you<em>.

_We can't meet halfway, _Santana thought, _Because I'm not bi. I'm lesbian, I think._

_If you just realize what I just realized  
>Then we'd be perfect for each other<br>And we'll never find another  
>Just realize what I just realized<br>We'd never have to wonder  
>Just realize what I just realized<em>

_If you just realize what I just realized_

_Oh_

_Missed out on each other now_  
><em>Missed out on each other now<em>

_Realize_  
><em>Realize<em>  
><em>Realize<em>

A loud applause resounded around the room, as Rachel did a little curtsy and sat back in the front row. Santana noticed Quinn ogling her, unbeknownst to Quinn, her mouth was hanging open like a hungry Chihuahua.

"Very good Rachel. Nice portrayal of this week's theme. I hope to see some other songs tomorrow." Mr. Schue said as the bell chimed, waving goodbye as they made a mad rush to the door. Santana lingered behind, just as Mr. Schuester had expected.

"Santana?" he asked. Santana looked up at him. "We need to talk."

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><p><strong>Mr. schue knows something? maybe, just maybe. also i may not be able to update, i have a lot of testing coming up. ewww.<strong>

**REVIEW. REVIEW. REVIEW. REVIEW PLEASE PRETTY PLEASE? (desperate right now...)  
><strong>

**~CJ out**


	3. The Party

**Sooooooooo...testings done! im super deepduper happy! haha :D so, i got out the ole computer and started writing. lol so this chapter, there is some partying and a drunk santana and all that...enjoy? and it got super long, longer than it usually is for a master of lazyness like me, so i split it in two! the next update should be up soon, hopefully, if i can get my little brat of a sister off the computer XP  
><strong>

**disclaimer: i dont own glee :'(**

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><p>"Santana."<p>

"Yes, Mr. Schue." Her hands were shaking.

"Tell me, how's your life been?" he asked, dragging a chair next to Santana, who for some reason sat in the front row at Glee today, scratching the tile like two parallel fingernails on a chalkboard. He faced her, sitting on the wrong way, peering into her black eyes that shone like two pieces of heartless charcoal.

"G-go-good." Santana gulped, feeling like she was being interrogated like those people on CSI:Miami.

"How has your week been? You've seemed a little...apprehensive." Mr. Schuester looked coy, like he was playing with her, like he knew something that Santana didn't.

"Fun. Karofsky asked me to prom on Monday." Santana's hands were shaking in her lap, were they were carelessly bound together. She scooted back her chair again, biting her lip until she tasted blood, which felt cool and like pennies down her throat.

"Oh. You two are soul mates?" he raised one eyebrow, that smile that Santana never saw, the cocky, knowing one, plastered on his face. He _did _know something then.

"Santi?" Brittany stuck her head in, saving Santana's dear life, "I was looking for you!" she giggled. She bounced in, clutching her backpack by its straps, reminding Santana of a younger Brittany when she was 5 and they were in Kindergarten. Santana bolted out of her chair, grabbing Brittany and hugging her.

"I cannot explain how much I love you right now, B." she whispered into her ear.

"Love you too!" she whispered back, making Santana break out into a smile.

"Bye Mr. Schue!" she called, grabbing Santana and ushering her into the hall, not forgetting to wave too Mr. Schuester, who had a stunned expression on his face, Santana was sitting in that chair, and three seconds later she was out the door, and he was confused.

"Bye…Brittany?" he rubbed his temples, grabbed his bag, and locked up. Boy, and he was supposed to question Santana for Lady Palmolive. And you weren't supposed to make _her_ mad.

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><p>"Let's go to the party!" said Brittany, watching Santana addressing her makeup in the vanity in Brittany's room. It was Friday, and of course, it was a partying night tonight, and Karofsky was hosting some mad party at his mansion house up in the hills. He had a hot tub and a pool table and game room and all, so it was bound to be something, at least. And <em>Puck<em> was supplying the drinks, so there were going to be a lot of drunk antics and massive hangovers the next morning.

"Kay kay, Britt, I just have to add heaps of eyeliner, a little bit of mascara, get on my stupidly skanky dress, and we can leave!" she snapped, in a fit of a bad mood. Brittany recoiled.

"Santana?" she asked, innocent as an angel. Which she was, she was like a holy little angel that only wanted to spread good to the world. Oh, yeah, then get in everyone's pants(she _had _learned from the best, for sure.)

"Sorry." She said, applying some more bright cherry lipstick, smacking them and blotting with a Kleenex, "I'm not in a good mood today. Weird things have been happening." Again, Santana found herself staring at the top of Brittany's head, looking for that cursive writing she had gotten accustomed to seeing on the heads of every person in the world. So why couldn't she see Brittany's? It was so confusing and it was driving her more insane than the insanity that was her life already was.

"'S okay, S. Just don't be mean to other people. They wouldn't like that." Brittany stroked Lord Tubbington's fur with the back of her hand, caressing him and feeding him part of a chocolate chip cookie they had snagged from the jar downstairs. Santana noticed the hurt expression in those wide blue eyes that somehow knew everybody's sadness, and she immediately felt her poor heart shatter. She had an impulse to hug her.

"Brittany." She murmured, wrapping her in a hug, twining her hands in Brittany's honey locks, playing with them absentmindedly.

"Yep?" she asked, sending Lord Tubbington away with a crazed meow and a hiss.

"I'm sorry. That was mean." She said, voice breaking, her eyes glistening. She had been getting more emotional. Santana Lopez does _not_ get emotional.

"It's okay, San!" she laughed, liking the feeling of her careful fingers running through her hair. It felt better than a hairbrush, which always seemed to get somehow tangled in Brittany's hair and the pointy things at the end actually kind of hurt. Santana smiled, a genuine smile of happiness, and just looked into Brittany's eyes.

"S?"

"Yes, Britt?"

"Do pineapples grow on trees?"

_What a weirdly random question, _thought Santana, _So typical of Brittany._

"I don't know, Britt. Do you have your phone?"

"Yeah?"

"Go look it up." Santana then took her dress and went to change, and the two of them drove to the party.

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><p>"Hey, S and B are here!" yelled Quinn over the blasting music of Karofsky's surround stereo system and the drunken screams of high schoolers.<p>

"The life of the party has arrived!" Santana screamed, throwing her leather jacket in the pile with all the other haphazardly thrown clothing items, acting like she was drunk already. Everybody knew that Santana drunk was about twenty times worse than when she was sober, and she was already a pain not drunk.

"Puck snuck some vodka in for us from his Uncle's liquor store." Quinn explained, watching their classmates pulling some crazy shit like vaulting off the wraparound staircase and jumping on the grand piano in a bra and underwear in a Brittany like feat.

"Figured." Santana murmured, pulling Brittany closer to her as a thick jet of water almost nailed Brittany's ear. Mike shrugged sheepishly from across the room, where he guiltily held a Nerf water gun in his hand. Then he shot again, and this time he hit who he had been aiming for, Sam, straight in the face.

"Yep. Well, do you guys want something to drink?" asked Quinn like she owned the place. And she did, but not physically.

"Sure. Britt, we're taking a taxi home, 'kay?"

"Gotcha, Santi! Last time you almost crashed into that old lady who lives across the street!" she giggled, before running after a blur, which was probably Dave's little siblings' cat, Fluffy. She was lost in the crowd before Santana could protest, but she managed a "Brittany! Be careful!" in Britt's general direction.

Quinn raised an eyebrow before leading her into the kitchen and handing Santana a shot glass that held alcohol.

"So, how have you and Berry been?" she said, gulping down the drink, feeling a fire gallop down her throat like two horses in a Derby.

"Man hands? I haven't insulted her in a few days now." Quinn said casually, but her bright red cheeks said otherwise.

"Uhuh. I've seen the way you stare up those ridiculously short skirts, Q, you're a closeted lesbo, don't deny it." Santana slurred, now feeling kind of tipsy. She leaned against the island in the kitchen. It was relatively quiet, besides the fact a few other couples were making out in sporadic corners and some people were making mad dashes for the toilet.

Quinn took a bite out of a cracker which she had snagged form the pantry, studying it like she intended to do food meditation, which Santana's aunt had tried to teach her once after she spent a good chunk of Santana's freshman year boarding at a Buddhist temple.

"Not true!" Quinn protested, again her cheeks flaring up. She gave up on the possibility of finishing the cracker and tossed it in the trash can.

"You know what, Q?" Santana looked into her eyes, feeling a whole lot drunker then she was five minutes ago in the hallway of the Karofsky mansion, "I can see your soul mate. And you got Berry!" she slurred the word _Berry_ so it came out long and mocking. Quinn was about to say another hopelessly weak protest, but was cut off when her jaw hit the floor.

"Hey there, Cheerios!" Rachel murmured, holding a red cup filled with beer and dressed in an outfit quite like the one she wore during the short-lived Britney Spears phase at Glee. She was dragging Puck by the arm.

"My fellow Jew wants some of the Puckasaurus." winked Puck, following Rachel into the downstairs guest bedroom. Quinn turned green and Santana just gave Puck a kind of thumbs up.

"She's drunk." Snapped Quinn, wanting to wipe the smirk of Santana's face. She laughed as the name _Rachel _on top of Quinn's head bounced up and down as she angrily shook her head, beginning to pace the length of the island. They were so totally soul mates, no matter how long the enemies bit was going to last.

"Q, you seriously need to chill out, take a breath, and walk out of that closet that you have been hiding in since that time you drunkenly started making out with my Brittany in eighth grade." Santana laughed, throwing her head back and taking a drink from someone's abandoned cup on the table.

"God, Santana, you are so much worse drunk. And to think we were friends sober." Quinn muttered, half meaning it. She gave her a kiss on the cheek, a kiss exchanged by two best friends, and said, "Please, have safe sex." before she left the room. Santana watched her walk away, dressed in a bright floral print sundress that reminded her of Brittany.

"Davey!" squealed Santana, wlking into the family room, finding herself in Karofsky's lap, who was sitting on the couch talking to some of his football friends. She wrapped her arms around his neck and planted a big, slobbery kiss usually performed by a excited Golden Retriever on his lips. She ignored the fact that half of the football team gathered around Karofsky was either backing away or gawking like they wanted some more.

"Hey, Santana…?" he said, "You look good tonight." He grabbed her by the waist and kissed her.

"Oh, shut it, I always looks sexy, right, niños?" Santana asked, daring anybody to say no. They all knew, between her stunning looks and big kissable lips and boob job, she was irresistible. But they _also _ knew she was lesbian and was in love with Brittany. I mean, even best friends did not mention each other every thirty seconds. And pretty much everybody was waiting for Santana Lopez to embrace her lesbianism or whatever.

"I'm one hot mama." Santana muttered, getting of Karofsky, who was starting to get a little freaked out. She laughed.

"Holy crap, Dave, your soul mate is Lauren Zizes!" her body convulsed in a series of giggles as she noticed the name dancing on top of his head.

"What?" David said, confused.

"You like Lauren, you like Lauren! I always knew you were bi!" Santana leaped onto his coffee table and did a strip pole dance that reminded the football players of a Latina Miley Cyrus at the Teen Choice Awards. She danced round like the drunken fool she was.

"Santana, baby, you need to go lie down somewhere." Karofsky snickered, finding the situation funny(only because he did have a soft spot for the overweight wanna be bitch) and taking Santana by the wrist into a spare room with a couch.

"Your acting kind of drunk right now, and my little sister's are asleep up in the parents room, and they don't want to see you dance like that, so either stay in here or control yourself." Karofsky said as he left.

"No promises!" Santana called, before departing outside to try and find Brittany.

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><p>"B!" Santana yelled, running up to her. The effects of the alcohol were wearing off a bit, and she was a little bit better and not a wild party animal. An hour ago she was worse than Ke$ha.<p>

Brittany was in the hot tub, some of the boys in with her, sipping a beer from a bottle. The boys were ogling her and drooling over the floor like stupid oafs. She did not need more Finn's in her life.

"Get away, bastards!" she scolded the boys, who did not want to mess with an unsteady, tipsy, slowly sobering Santana. They scrambled away, into the cold bigger pool, or into the game room, or back into the family room to associate with Karofsky and warn him of his girlfriend's antics.

"Britt, those boys are nothing compared to me!" she said, breathing into Brittany's ear as she slipped into the tub, stripping to her bikini. She knew there was a pool, so she had brought a suit, unlike Brittany, who was satisfied in a bra and lacy Victoria's Secret underwear. Santana's bathing suit was a demonic red that was kind of like the prom dress she had picked out already.

"I love you too, Santana!" Brittany laughed, looking giddily drunk, "Te amo!" she blew a kiss to San, and Santana picked it up and placed it on her own cheek.

"You're the best friend in the whole world, you know that?" Santana said rhetorically, looking sincere as she locked eyes with Brittany, brown on blue. It was like the earth was meeting the sky, in a wild frenzy of sparks. She leaned against Brittany's broad shoulder, and even though her shoulder blades were hard and jutted out and hurt really bad, she didn't complain as she tried desperately to create a sappy movie moment.

"You are too! I'll love you forever and ever and ever." Brittany beamed, remembering how those words were uttered so many years ago when they were in Preschool. They even pinkie swore to never ever be best friend's with anybody else, not even Quinn, who was the completion to the unholy trinity. They were still close friends with Q, but Brittany and Santana were the closest out of anybody.

"I love you, B." she was sobering up now, feeling like she was actually living this moment and not in a foggy haze like the evening had been after those three—no, four—five?—shots she had inhaled.

"Even though I can't see your soul mate, and I don't know who you'll ever be with, I love you. And I'm going to sing you a song." Santana said. She felt alcohol leave her system, and was content, because she wanted to be deliciously sober for the song that overthrew Landslide _and _Songbird in terms of heartfelt confessions.

She opened her mouth and began.

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><p><strong>i have a confession to make: i dont know a song that would fit for the awesomeness of santanas half-drunken love confession! so yep pretty much please <em>suggest any good, lovey dovey song! :))))<em> ok so im rewatching the prom eppy, and its actually really funny seeing quinn bitch slap rachel (my little sis was like 'ooooohhh') :P so yeah, and next chapter ill finish part two of the party and well elaborate on will/lady palmolive and santanas weird powers and all that =P also, i realize i was being kind of desperate and sounded kind of silly about reivews, so i dont care if you review or not, but reviews are loved =]  
><strong>

**~CJ out**


	4. You Are My Sunshine

**ok, this is mainly a partying chapter(idk, in a partying mood...),and no brittana at all(well not much), but faberry if your interested!oh and i decided that i would not feature any songs form san to brittany, but maybe later, i will gladly take those wonderful things called osng requests! :Dhahahaha so now that stupid testing is done,i willl update hopefully more frequent, but i do have a social life and all...so yeah. also, whenever my cousins would come from northern california(i live in so cal, near l.a.) my aunt and uncle would sing the(considered a) lullaby in this fic!**

**disclaimer:i dont own glee, otherwise it would be all season one and two full of romantic santana confessions of her love to brittany! nor do i own "you are my sunshine" also, if you are to youtube it, search for the elizabeth mitchell version.**

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><p>"Rachel!" yelled Quinn, storming into the bedroom and barging in on some very in-a-pro-pro behavior, the same that had caused many consequences and screaming and crying in the Fabray family. She seethed.<p>

"Move it, Puckerman!" she screamed, switching on the light and stopping the theme to Brahm's lullaby that had been playing in the stereo set in the corner. This was Karofsky's sister's room, she could tell by the Dora wallpaper and the little bookshelf crammed with picture books. And, by the looks of it, the bed was as small as beds run in, probably less than a twin.

"Okay, okay! Sheesh!" Puck stood up, pulled on his shirt, and walked off, his hands raised in a definite white flag of defeat. He, of all badasses in the entire world, knew that a mad Quinn Fabray is not something you ever want to encounter in your life, father of baby or not. He went to go find some other girls to have some nice, uninterrupted sex with.

"Rachel!" scolded Quinn again, using her first name like she had had a tendency to do lately. These days, "Berry" and "Man Hands" and "RuPaul" were unappealing and just plain rude.

"Hey there." Rachel's words were slurred, and, to Quinn's half relief and half disappointment, Rachel's shirt was on. But it was a very revealing top.

"Rachel, you need to stop and relax. This isn't safe. Did you take the pill?" Quinn helped her on her feet, holding on to her elbow and trying to be a motherly figure when she had no experience whatsoever.

"What pill? I can't take pills, my dad and daddy say I don't need to! I take vitamin gummies in the mornings instead though!" Rachel cheered.

"God dammit!" cursed Quinn, angrily squashing a crumpled piece of paper that was efficiently laying on the floor. She led Rachel out of the room and into another, quieter, not as cramped and sweaty room with a bigger bed. This must be Karofsky's brother Scotty's room, who was a freshman at William McKinley and gayer than Karofsky himself. Quinn saw him earlier, trying to flirt with an annoyed Kurt, who had intertwined hands with Blaine.

"Look! There's a poster for _Spring Awakening_!" chirped Rachel, running up to the poster on Scotty's wall, which was painted a pallid pink. This could have been Rachel's room besides the drumset in the corner and the computer sound system hooked up next to the drum kit. The posters littered on the wall were all for musicals Rachel knew by heart, and the bed was a four-poster canopy with a beige(much to Rachel's disappointment) down comforter and a huge assortment of pilliows.

"I want to live here forever and ever!" giggled Rachel, still plenty drunk, dancing and spinning in circles like she expected Quinn to pick her up and hold her like Leonardo Di Caprio in _Titanic_.

"Uhuh. Now stay here. You can't talk to any boys since you told me you didn't get the pill and your drunk. Please, don't get pregnant." If Rachel were sober, she would have been able to sense the caring desperation weaved through Quinn's voice.

"Okay!" Rachel smiled as she started prancing around like a pony on crack. She went through Scotty's iTunes on his computer until she found Single Ladies by Beyonce. Then she sang her heart out and did a very close approximation to the slutty dance performed by Beyonce and her epic background dancers. Into the chorus, Quinn decided that Rachel had had enough and was going to lay her down before she decided to perform the Single ladies dance for Karofsky and all the others.

"Rach, you need to stop. You're lucky the door is locked and it's soundproof." Quinn said, failed attempt at sternness singing in her voice,switching off the music and laying her gently on the bed. She opened up the covers and ushered her inside, peeling off her small black Mary-Jane's and tucking the covers tight under her chin, just like Quinn sometimes imagined she would do to her kids when she finally settled down and started a family with God knows who. But she would never have strange urges to start making out with her kids, right? That would be kind of weird.

"But I want to dance some more!" whined Rachel, looking at Quinn with innocent chocolate eyes that Quinn wanted to eat up. They were so wide and so wholly angelic and chaste that it filled her heart with the type of content that was hard for a certain Quinn Fabray to ever come to terms with.

"Not now, Rachel, your drunk and maybe pregnant, I will deal with that later." Here Quinn gave a scowl like the amount of crap piled up in her life was overflowing over the trough, " I need you to rest until I can get my car form down the hill where it is parked(oh damn, its parked _all the way _down the hill?Quinn thought.) and the two of us can get our asses out of here and you can spend the night at my place."

"I can't fall asleep until I get a lullaby. Dad and daddy always do that every night, and sometimes Finn does, but his voice is so stupid sounding!" Rachel said, causing Quinn to burst out laughing. Rachel looked at her seriously.

"Will you sing to me, Quinnie?" asked Rachel, sincerely, and Quinn felt her heart melting at the sight of a normally mature Rachel, now, drunk, acting like she was around three years old.

"_The other night dear, as I lay sleeping,  
>I dreamed I held you in my arms,<br>but when I woke dear, I was mistaken,  
>and I hung my head and cried.<em>

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine  
>you make me happy when skies are gray<br>you'll never know dear, how much I love you,  
>please don't take my sunshine away<p>

.

_I'll always love you and make you happy  
>if you will only say the same<br>but if you leave me to love another  
>you'll regret it all someday" <em>Quinn sang softly, her voice sent out throughout the room as if whispered by a flock of snow white doves. She remembered how, one day, when Brittany had a particularly bad nightmare during one of their many sleepovers, Santana had sung the song to her and kissed her sweetly before Santana and Quinn had left to go to bed downstairs. That was the unholy trinity for you.

Quinn also remembered when her dad used to sing this to her, right before she went to bed, before he up and walked out of her life for forever just because of one mistake. One stupid mistake. Quinn choked back a sob as she experimented the chorus, trying and ultimately failing to stop the tears cascading down her cheeks as she thought of her father, her mother, Rachel, Santana and Brittany, lullabies, and cheesiness, which was starting to become the moment.

"_You are my sunshine, my only sunshine  
>you make me happy, when skies are gray,<br>you'll never know dear, how much I love you,  
>please don't take my sunshine away<em>._" _

Rachel's eye lids were slowly fluttering shut, and a heavy blanket of content swallowed up her small frame. Quinn found herself climbing into the bed of Karofsky's brother with Rachel, feeling the need to be close to Rachel, wanting to kiss her nose, which actually wasn't that big and kind of adorable.

"_You told me once dear you really loved me  
>that no one else could come between<br>but now you've left me to love another  
>you have shattered all my dreams<em>." Quinn didn't really care that this song didn't fit into the messy shithole of her life, but it still made her wipe away the gushing waterfall of anger down her face. All she remembered was when her dad sung it to her, with his sweet, gentle voice that reminded Quinn of Kurt, the way her father used to sing in his savory tenor, like smooth maple syrup.

"_You are my sunshine, my only sunshine  
>you make me happy, when skies are gray,<br>you'll never know dear, how much I love you,  
>please don't take my sunshine away" <em>

Quinn lay next to her, Rachel's breaths coming in slow, long, drags. She held Rachel close to her, noticing how her breath smelled curiously of whiskey and how she was so delicate and fragile, despite her firm know-it-all perfectionist diva exterior, on the inside she was a little porcelain doll chipped around the edges.

And she was beautiful, and Quinn was in love, in love with Rachel.

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><p>Santana locked eyes with Brittany, noticing how drunk she was. This stupid party Karofsky had decided to throw <em>randomly <em>and _this week_ was getting to be too much for one night. She would grab Brittany, by the wrist, and hail the stupid taxi cab and get them both in bed, and they would snuggle close together and hold each other tight. Screw the stupid cheesy song, like she needed anymore of that after Songbird and Landslide, her cheesometer( New word…?)was about to have an overload and squirt Easy Cheese all over everybody. The icky, disgusting, fake cheese that came in a can, that was what Easy Cheese was right? Plus, the Glee club was all inside, so there was no backup, and Santana highly doubted that anybody would come outside in the freezing cold—damn, it had gotten _so _much colder—and sing some stupid song about her love for a certain blonde cheerleader. Plus, she was supposed to be a _closeted _Lebanese. Lesbian.

"B, we're going." Snapped Santana, yanking Brittany out of the pool, not even looking at her revealing makeshift bikini and the fact that her hair was a filthily wild hot mess.

"Ok…" she murmured, shifting her weight to both feet as she walked.

_Damn party, damn that stupid, last minute, completely random party. Damn, damn, damnit! _Santana thought as she got out her phone from her leather jacket pocket and dialed the familiar 1-800 taxi number as she walked through the house and into the front, barely waving goodbye to Karofsky, wrapping the jacket around Brittany, who was drunkenly shivering in her bra and underwear. Santana pecked Brittany's cheek as she slipped on her dress, which she had snatched after she stripped for the hot tub. Damn those wild ravers parties. Damn. Damn.

"Come on, Britt Britt. Let'g go, cabs here!" Santana said, looking right at Brittany, whose eyes were glazed over with a lazy fog.

Brittany followed Santana into the cab, like a little duckie.

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><p>"Thank you so much!" Santana forced a roll of bills into the cabbie's hand, who she saw was named Robert Oliver. She grabbed a staggering Brittany and pulled her into the alley that led her to Brittany's house, a shortcut that cut through Lima Heights, where she lived.<p>

"B, hurry, please. It's dangerous here if you don't know the right people." Santana pleaded as Brittany stopped to inspect a bland flower pot with limping, dead, flowers.

"Pretty flower." She said in complete awe, reaching out to touch the dead thorn.

"Britt! Let's go!" Santana pulled her into the alley.

"Brittany! Come!" she said again, when she still sat there mesmerized by the stupid dead flower.

"But Santi! It's so pretty!" Brittany said, reluctantly following Santana until they finally got to Brittany' house and clambered up the ivy into her window. They didn't notice the two heads watching them all the way home.

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><p><strong>ok, so yeah, not my best work in the world,lacking brittana(sad face) but yeah. ummmmm so do whatever and also i am thinking of changing my username, would that confuse anybody? it would be: CJ_wirtes_life, which is also my twitter, btw, like if your a stalker ya know? ;) ummmm so yeah well tell me wer this story should go and i will get to the supernatural soul mate aspect of this story soon, pinkie swear<strong>

**~CJ out**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey, sorry no update in a while. love you all. read my good friend StuddedBoot. she writes good tvd stuff. also enjoy this i guess. all beatles stuf is for said friend who writes tvd. yeah.**

**own nothing.**

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><p>In Glee club Butt Chin announced the theme for songs. It was something boring Santana didn't care about, she was too busy silently giggling to herself about the fact that Quinn was lesbian with <em>Berry.<em> And all the other people. It weirded her out a little, but at the same time she got herself some juicy information about everybody and their weird private social lives. Santana felt like she was prying…but then again, she was Santana Lopez, so the world allowed her to do those kinds of things.

"Santana? Pay attention?" Quinn nudged her in an attempt to get her to listen, because Quinn wasn't.

"Shut it, midget lover." She snapped, not wanting to be yanked out of her thoughts.

"What?" Quinn's face, for the first time, was confused and not angry or smug.

"Nevermind." Santana clamped her jaw shut as Quinn shot her a look that she called the "WTF face."

"This weeks we will be doing Beatles songs." Santana caught the end of Mr. Schue's long boring rant, and she was pretty sure Berry was the only one actually paying attention. Puck was flicking a paper football at Mike's head, and Artie was trying to stare at Brittany while Santana's eyes were elsewhere. Santana wanted to slap the name on top of his head into the trash can.

"Bu—bu—but Mr. Schuester!" whined Rachel, as she leaned forward on her elbows, giving Quinn a view of something that Santana gagged at, "Beatles? They—their—not as good as Broadway! What about a reenactment of Wicked, or Les Mis? I would make a great Cossette, or we could do Barbra Stresiand, you know, Funny Lady—"

"Even a song about strawberry fields is better than listening to Berry rant about musicals." Muttered Santana, leaning over to whisper in Quinn's ear. The reply was a preoccupied "Uh huh."

"Rachel, please, expand your horizons a bit. The Beatles were the best thing to come to the 60's." Mr. Schuester said, talking to her like he talked to the exchange Japanese student who couldn't even say "hi" in English, long and enunciated.

"Sure, Mr. Schue. But I still think we should do a musical, even redo the Rocky Horror show. Finn could be Brad, and I could be Janet—"

"No!" snarled Quinn, cutting Rachel off again. Everybodys heads swiveled to stare at Quinn, who was turning the shade of a red velevet cupcake. Santana pulled the sleeves of her oversized UCLA sweatshirt over her mouth so nobody could see her snicker.

"I mean—uh, why don't we just do the Beatles, Rach—Berry. That's right. Berry." Stammered a certain blonde who was now the shade of a firetruck.

"See, even Quinn thinks we should do Beatles." Mr. Shuester used Quinn's barely coherent mumuring as an attempt to boost his chances of winning an argument with the diva.

"Fine." Rachel gave, too quickly for Santana's taste, but Santana knew nobody else noticed.

"Okay then, its settled. Everybody go learn some Beatles songs." Mr. Schue tried to say over the loud bell gonging, "See you all tomorrow."

All the kids left the classroom, and Santana could tell Mr. Schuester wanted to talk to Santana so she hurriedly picked up her pace and shoved Quinn and Brittany in fron of her, who responded with yelps of surprise but quickened steps nontheless.

"What was that about, Lopez?" Quinn snapped as she fixed her strappy sandals, which had shifted around a bit when Santana kicked them.

"Nothing, Q, now hurry up. Mr. Schuester is following us. Go to the locker and make small talk." She said in a fierce whisper as the three scuffled as a unit to Quinn's locker.

"That was some party on Friday, right, Santana?" Quinn said, with a fake smile and an exceptionally loud voice reserved for pep rallys, "I heard you went crazy drunk."

"Yeah. "she play slapped Quinn, "So, what was the English homework?" she practically screamed, as Mr. Schuester walked by, his head in his iPhone 4. He didn't look up, but the tapping was audible so Santana figured he was preoccupied and not listening to something like a wild raver party courtesy of the Karofsky household.

"Why are we hiding from our Spanish teacher?" Quinn demanded as soon as Mr. Schuester was gone, walking outside and pressing the button on her keys. Her mother's old Honda Civic beeped at them as the three got in, Brittany quietly slipping into the back.

"It's nothing, Q. Can you please shut up and drive?"

"Drive, drive, drive." Brittany mumured from the backseat.

"Brittany, I love you, but really." Santana smiled, but it was a compressed smile of somebody stressed out and not in the mood for even lovable Brittany's antic. She was wrapped up in her own thoughts, of that person who followed them the night of the party, and the Glee club conductors mysterious behavior and Brittany being Artie's soulmate and not being able to see Brittany's own mate, which she was sure was her. Of course it was her. I mean, they were the perfect two. Brittany melded into her, their personalities compromised each other perfectly, and when their lips mashed it was more fireworks than a Katy Perry song.

"Hey, can I come to your house with Santana, B?" Quinn asked as she turned the radio down, invading Santana's thoughts and again. Sanatana convulsed in a series of giggles as she saw the name Rachel bobbing around.

"What?" Quinn cocked her head to the side, a slightly amused smile on her face, mirroring the expression of the seagulls in _Finding Nemo._ Santana started laughing more, which caused Brittany to giggle a bit from the back.

"N—no-nothing." Santana choked, seeing Quinn looking so clueless without her HBIC face, her expression aghast.

"Santana, as much as your laugh is adorable, I think that you seriously do not need to feel obliged to make fun of me whenever I ask an innocent question." Quinn said, looking a pinch bit hurt as even Brittany started full out laughing. Santana's laugh was adorable. And contagious, like the flu or a cough or lice. Or mono.

By the time the three girls where in Brittany's big house in the residential area of Lima, they were all in a fit of laughing where you can't stop because its so hysterical, even if its not funny anymore. Those times where you are so happy to have good friends that you literally get a stitch in your side.

Brittany whipped out her cell phone and punched in a few numbers, her hair falling in a honey curtain around her face as she leaned down, sunlight streaming through te windows, giving Santana a peaceful view of her helpless girl crush that she wished she could take a picture of. If only Quinn weren't there. Imagine what Quinn would say to Santana taking stalker pictures of Brittany.

"My mom says you can come over. You can stay for dinner. You too, Santi. And we're going to the fair tonight to help Suzy with her booth. You can come too, Quinnie." Brittany beamed.

"Wait, the elemenatry school is _still _doing that stupid fair? And we have to help your annoying _little sister?_" Santana said, trying to sound like she didn't want to go,while secretly she was screaming "Maybe that soap fortune telling lady will be there!"

"Yeah. And Suzy needs help." Brittany said,kicking one Ugg boot out of the car as she walked out onto the sidewalk, even graciously opening the passenger seat for Santana, who flushed a bright red at being thought of.

"But we did it already last week." Santana whined, but not as much as she usually would have. Quinn joined them as the opened the gate to Brittany's house. They waved high, and a chorus of "Hi, Mom." And "Hello, Mrs. Pierce" rang out as they retreated to Brittany's room. Brittany's mother yelled back,"We have cookies downstairs, and dinner is at 6!"

"I don't want to go!" Santana complained like she was Suzy, who had just turned eight a few weeks ago.

"Stop whining, San." Brittany said.

Santana shut up.

Quinn thought, _She's so whipped._ But she _thought_ it. Santana would go all Lima Heights—no, she'd go _worse_ than all Lima Heights—on Quinn to hide the inevitable truth. Brittany wouldn't like it if she got blood all over her nice duck carpet, a present from Santana and Quinn.

"We need to find Beatles songs." Quinn said to Britt and San as she sat on Brittany's swivel chair an booted up the iMac. They were over at each other's houses so much, they even had their own user accounts. Quinn logged on to hers, pondering a minute on her password(which was Rachel Barbra Berry, not that she would let anybody know that) and then finding herself on a YouTube playlist made by some obsessive Beatles fan. Wow. They had _a lot _of albums.

Brittany and Santana watched this as they snuggled next to each other on Brittany's big comfy chair. Brittany held Santana close to her chest, even subconsciously twsiting her charcoal hair around and around her slender fingers.

Quinn's jaw dropped as she read all the albums. There were so many. A Hard Day's Night, Black Album, White Album (so racist!) Rubber Soul, Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, and so on and so on.

"Let's get started."

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><p><strong>stay tuned for more. read and review please. more coming sorry this was short and not well written. <strong>

**~CJ out**


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